


Qu'est-Q C'est

by ToasterBonanza



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Gen, Kafkaesque erotic nightmare, art deco, this is for maybe all of us three people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterBonanza/pseuds/ToasterBonanza
Summary: The illustrious spyhunter is visited by a strange officer who is far more than the spyhunter had realized.





	Qu'est-Q C'est

An informal club on the space station Maryam met monthly for no reason except to descend upon the heated hydrotherapy pool the station had installed after the crew's lengthy, obstinate campaign. At times, "meetings" attracted more than expected, and the founding members of the club would agree to a second, clandestine rendezvous.

The ethereal time between late-night and early morning. Like the young delinquents they had once been, the eight giddily split a bottle of wine--real wine cultivated in Shahrazad Al-Shahib. Adequate at best, but the thrill of breaking rules for the sake of self-indulgence made up for the taste. Those of the founding members who abstained from the wine could enjoy the different thrill of being an accomplice. And like proper rule-breakers, the station's enforcer was invited along.

"Finish this for us," said Astrid, showing off the wine still three fingers tall in the bottle.

Nikolai had been affable but aloof as the warm water melted him into relaxation. The lasts two days had been sleepless and frustrating, culminating in his investigation suffering a major setback of which he could not speak a word. Lounging against the edge, Astrid's voice brought him out of his melancholic reverie. "Oh, yes, certainly."

Dandan chortled. "He speaks!" Nikolai smiled in reply to hide his pining. Dandan reminded him of Deforest. The Maryam was like a second home. It was not home. He missed the Chiungs horribly.

"No, just...." He didn't know how to finish.

To this, Dandan brought the bottle closer. "We know that you cannot tell us." Nikolai lost the thread of the conversation as he sipped, the thick bitter liquid coating his tongue to finish sour like biting into a lemon. It was terrible. And he loved it. He imagined he looked very undignified as his face reflexively scrunched from the taste. The only thing missing from this moment was his cigarette holder. True power was the ability to smoke wherever and whenever he pleased.

He caught the gist when Farha adjusted the bottoms of her modest swimwear and said, "Dandan, you always say this one is the one."

"Well I can believe in romance!" he shot back with a laugh. "This one is really handsome too. He is like a puppy that became a person." He sighed with a mooney grin. "Falling in love is always the best part. Don't you think?"

Nikolai realized the question was directed at him. "Oh. Yes, so I have been told."

"Nikita, you are with us," coaxed Astrid, reaching and brushing her knuckles briefly against the side of his head.

By impulse, he leaned toward her hand as it went by. The bottle wasn't finished but already he felt the wine. All the tinkering of his hardware couldn't fix the nasty trick it played—pain relief came slowly while drunkenness arrived without warning. "What was the question?"

The group of them cooed and chuckled as one would when a small puppy stumbles over its feet, graciously glossing over the fact that he hadn't been listening. "You know," ventured Astrid, "I think we have known each other for over ten years, and I do not recall a single time you mentioned being in love, Nikita."

As terrible as the wine was, he couldn't stop sipping. "I love many people in my life and speak of them often." He lowered his eyes to the water, feeling naked despite the singlet swimsuit hiding the data ports on his torso. "I suppose. I love all of you. Why shouldn't I. You are my friends."

A group of appreciative sighs and murmured thank yous before she continued. "But being 'in love.' You always struck me as such a romantic. A person who fills you with passion! The person who makes you think you are going mad!"

Passion. Madness. He gulped down the rest of the wine. On the Maryam, no one knew his past. But he loved his friends here, didn't he? They deserved to know who was below the lacquer of charm. They would keep his secrets. "I must have been just past thirty," he began, smiling wistfully.

The rest pulled in to listen.

"This person. I thought of them as I fell asleep, as I dreamt, as I woke. When I could sleep, of course." A time of blissful ignorance. "I could not eat. Whenever they were near, I lost my breath." If he described it on the surface, it all sounded just like what everyone had told him about falling in love.

"Well?" Dandan pressed. "What did you do?"

He couldn't help a quiet laugh. "What could I do but confess myself?"

"Who were they?"

He looked at his wrist. "The woman who gave me my scars." He went back to the bottle for some stray drops. "She informed me, rightfully, that I was not in love. My chest would tighten whenever I saw her. Every time I smiled at her, I would grind my teeth without thought." No matter however many times he told the story—and he'd discussed it with Deforest or his support group in many alcohol-soaked confession sessions over the past 20 years—he felt conflicted. "But I still hold onto this memory because, for a moment, I understood how others fall in love." A light in a dark time, however false that light had been.

Just as expected. They wore the look of the people who learned the truth of him. Except the social circle built by Mol and Tusark who never looked at him differently no matter what they learned. All the tension in body, once held by the water, now transmitted itself into the other seven present. And then, Astrid asked cautiously, "Is she the reason why no telepath can read you?"

How easily he could unburden himself. Confess every ugly detail of himself. Ten years investigating. Ten years of soul-withering secrets. They could keep his secrets. But as he took his next breath, the wall com blurted out the sweet voice of a security officer. "Data Consortium, please respond."

He clambered out of the pool to reach the com, wobbling slightly from the wine. "Data Consortium present, speak if you please."

"There is someone asking for Mr. LeVanne." The security person knew to whom they were speaking.

"Mr. LeVanne is busy." Not a false statement.

"I understand, sir, but this person claims the title Inquisitor. I believed that the Consortium should be informed."

He was the only one authorized to use that title. "Thank you. Please send them to the Consortium office." He needed to dry, dress, and sober up.

Hair still damp from the pool and equilibrium not yet regained, he strutted into his office to greet whoever this person was. He found a curly-haired youthful man, tall, in a commander's uniform. A foreboding grin. Nikolai needed to tease out the truth quickly. "May I ask the nature of your business, Commander?"

"Mr. LeVanne, I presume?"

Anyone asking for a Consortium member by name who couldn't recognize them on sight was sent away as politely as possible. "I am an associate." Also not a false statement. "I apologize to you for traveling so far. I can only give him your message before you leave."

A voice that was not his came into his brain. His heart stuttered. <<Very cute, Nikolai, but I know who you are.>> The commander in his office grinned wider.

Like a pry-bar to the chest. He caught his breath and fanned himself with a free hand. "Please allow me a moment." The god-creature which manifested on starships during multi-year exploratory missions, masquerading as a member of the command staff and wreaking havoc. A being of unparalleled power and knowledge. A deity that took a dangerous interest in the affairs of mortals. He needed to clear his schedule. The investigation could wait.

The wine lingered in him as he contacted his equals from Legal and gave detailed instructions to his subordinates. After the recent setback, no one questioned his need for a day of rest. He refused to take his eyes off his stranger for more than a moment. An hour of coordination before, at last, he was free. He gestured cordially. "Commander, let us continue our conversation with proper privacy."

The stranger purred, "Of course—to your quarters." "Ah, more private than my quarters. We have a skiff." A nod, a tilted eyebrow, the subtlest indications he could muster to beg the god-creature to please, for the sake of everyone on the station, do as Nikolai asks. "May I offer you tea as well?"

"Tea? A private room?" A haughty but delighted laugh. "What hospitality! I should have found you sooner!" A snap of the fingers.

Did Nikolai black out? He must have blacked out. The Commander—he never knew the true name of the god-creature—wore now a very familiar-looking tuxedo; ever the sartorial eccentric, Nikolai insisted on a dress shirt styled after a kosovorotka and gold-buttons on a shortened tailcoat. Wearing anything that was not black or white came as a deeply personal decision meant to move himself away from the darkness of his early thirties. To see another don it so flippantly—and by Providence, to add any sort of necktie—he couldn't help briefly bristling. The Commander grinned, knowing what They had done.

A test. Nikolai would not retract the invitation. "After you." He pulled out the tray with his tea set from under his desk. His office was on the same hallway as the skiff, giving him comfort that no one would see them. To his chagrin, all he could offer was the Sichuan tea sent by Deforest's mother. Not enough would be left for the afternoon tea habit he had learned in Chengdu and continued on the space station. Another test.

Entering the skiff, The Commander scowled. "Oh no, no, no," They tutted, "this simply will not do." Damn everything.

Nikolai could only set down the tray and prepare their tea. "I expect watch change to occur soon, and your presence may agitate the crew. I would not want to cause any harm or offense."

"I do not like this. We deserve a change of scenery."

_Snap._

Was it real or a lifelike illusion? What difference did it make? The sea breeze tickled his face and carded its fingers through his hair, carrying flute-like laughter and the smell of food; had he eaten in the past two days? He closed his eyes, remembering how deeply he felt the absence of solid ground beneath his feet. Together, they stood on sunny portico overlooking a turquoise, glassy sea. The tea set found its place on an ornate table. The flora exploded with colors around them and crowded in from above. Nikolai looked over his shoulder to find a warmly lit bedroom and two people lounging on a very inviting bed. The pair had just enough room between them for a third; they stroked the space, eyes beckoning him closer.

"Very good," crowed The Commander. "Nikolai, you work too hard. Wouldn't you like a bit of fun?"

Another test. "I have no need for these things." He was lying, mostly. The people were a nuisance, but the rest....

_Snap._

Every single centimeter of hardware in his body bit deeper and deeper and how was he weightless and what was this new rod he felt boring farther into his brain and why were his data ports letting these metal tentacles into his gut and why oh why did he want more he wanted more this place beyond pleasure and pain this place of red light this blood in his mouth and nose and throat this torture that felt right and perfect this pain that felt so good the pain he wanted to feel forever what oh God what Oh God Oh God Oh God---

<<Do you think you are special?>> Somehow in the red light The Commander emerged, seeming to walk at a right angle to whatever done was and now The Commander was nose-to-nose and sweat choked the air and congealed in his lungs and the hardware was vibrating his bones and what sweetness Oh God <<You think you are not venal because flesh does not excite you?>>

Weightless but confined as circuits bolted themselves around his elbows and knees and wrapped around his throat like a choker and the rod in his brain pushed deeper and more Oh God more Oh God <<You pour your desires into machines because they are objects and they are no different from people.>>

A hand delicately holding his chin and now the pins from the circuit boards slipped under his skin and raced through his veins dragging along threads of electricity <<Because you treat people like objects>>

And shudder after skin-tearing shudder through his body brought on by a most exquisite pain a glorious pain a pain that would kill him but Oh God how he wanted Oh God he wanted Oh God <<Because wrapping yourself in morality and law and justice cannot hide your savagery>>

And he knew Oh God he knew if he allowed himself the shattering conclusion he would die as the metal tentacles divided and multiplied but oh how he wanted more Oh God more <<I should leave you here. It is what you deserve. Don't you agree?>>

Despite blurred vision he saw the vague features of The Commander's face and he couldn't last much longer but he knew the truth he'd always known the truth but he didn't want to say to let Them win but Oh God the pain was seducing him to let go Oh God let go and succumb "Yes--" No sooner he opened his mouth to answer did a deep moan straight from his root emerged.

And with a moment of clarity, he took control.

He spat. A glob of blood and phlegm squarely hit The Commander's eye. He'd retained that skill after years out of practice.

The Commander said something but he couldn't hear and even as he mustered a half-smile he could feel the shudders strengthening and his resolve weakening and the pain the sweet pain was bringing him to the brink the sweet madness would come over him and he couldn't stop he didn't want to stop the pain he wanted to feel forever the madness Oh God and how he craved the oblivion this moment promised the pain Oh God The Pain Oh God Oh God--

_Snap._

Nikolai was standing on a white carpet, clutching his chest as he waited for the last remaining shudders to leave his body. When he looked up, he saw around him very fine decor with high-backed chairs and serpent-legged tables, whites and blacks with occasional color for accent. It felt like someone's home....A friend of his mother. He vaguely remembered this person, mainly that he had liked them and liked this house.

First floor gallery. Music from a jazz quartet in the salon. Murmurs of a party in every room but here. He knew nearby was a sun room and adjoining stone patio—his favorite area of the house. He turned to the oval mirror, fearing the worst.

No hint of the moments before. Nikolai was wearing his own tuxedo, gold buttons as shiny as ever and the red silk inner lining of the coat winking with each movement. And no necktie, just as it was meant to be worn. Instinctively, he checked the white waistcoat for the extra pockets—yes, everything was in place, including his cigarette case. Glancing back at his image, Nikolai realized he looked and felt better than he had in months: well-rested, no pain from his hardware, even his hair seemed a little darker and shinier.

The smell of tobacco. Pure tobacco, no mixing with spices for the comfort of others. Stepping cautiously, he noticed his tuxedo even fit better than usual as if anticipating his actions.

Dusk. Numerous candles gave ample soft illumination. Not quite what he remembered, but he appreciated the ambiance. The doors to the patio stood wide open but hardly a breeze came through. The Commander, thankfully, had chosen Their own outfit this time. Treating the high-backed chair in the sun room like a chaise longue, They had chosen reds, golds, and black reminiscent of the original uniform configured into a loud but well-tailored suit. They stood up in a single fluid motion to meet him. "Why did you spit on me?" Another odd change: he hadn't spoken French in decades and assumed he'd lost most of it, but here he understood perfectly. Furthermore, The Commander's accent was terrible.

Nikolai needed time to adjust. "Good to see you too, Commander." He wasn't ready to answer. The tea set must be around here....

The Commander slid in front of him, blocking his way. "Your tea set is safe; answer me now." The tobacco scent disappeared, replaced with Nikolai's disappointment. "How did you know I would not smear you across the stars?"

He took a deep breath. "I was not thinking about the consequences."

"Hah! Not you, Nikolai. Not the cautious, meticulous spy hunter would act without thinking." Their tone turned predatory. "Not Philia's right-hand. The right-hand whose death could undo so very many things he worked to achieve."

Only now did it occur to him that he was extremely lucky to be standing here in this room. "I agreed with you. I did not want you to think that my agreement meant anything else."

"What, some notion of 'you can kill me but you cannot beat me' or what have you?"

He should tread carefully now. The room could dissolve back into The Machine. His only clue: The Commander rewarded honest answers. "Yes." He considered and added, "The specifics of my life should make that clear."

_Snap._ To his relief, no replacement of reality. "Don't be so surprised. Be comfortable! Eat something!"

The pair of tea tables in the center of the room were now laden with fine silver and a collection of food reflecting moments in his life: fruit from his boyhood in France, the hotpot from the boathouse restaurant he frequented with Deforest in his long climb out of that deep dark hole, cabbage rolls he taught himself to make during his first days at university-- "Is this...what I think it is?" He reached out to slide a finger along the dish of tea-smoked duck; his first meal in Chengdu and dinner of choice after a visit to the House of Holes.

Show some restraint. Nikolai stepped back from the table toward the gallery from whence he came. The Commander was stretched out in the exact wrong way one uses an armchair and an ottoman. They scoffed and scowled. "What is it now!"

He stifled a chortle as The Commander's French elocution had been particularly bad. "You are courting me impeccably and—" he flashed a simper "--and I am truly flattered. But I must know. Why?"

A sardonic groan and The Commander rolled onto Their feet. "Fine. Because you asked kindly—Why are you laughing!" He needed to stop himself. There was a real possibility that Nikolai would be turned to space dust unless he urged Them on.

Miraculously, They did not press the matter. A monocle materialized in Their hand. "I wish to continue my observation of Humanity," They mused, playing with the monocle, "and my previous subjects no longer hold my interest." Nikolai had to lower his eyes as The Commander's grand gestures juxtaposed against bad pronunciation was almost too much to behold. "I still contend that Humanity is a savage child race that should never have ventured past its own Oort cloud."

"The Fleet captains." He recalled the memoranda but only regarded their contents as a curiosity. "I am neither and yet you are here."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes." The grin chilled Nikolai out of his good humor as The Commander stood and drew disquietingly close. The unseeable ghost of The Machine enveloped them and though multiple surgeries damaged his nape such that those hairs would stand up nevermore, the skin of his neck grew taut from the effort. "What better subject than the Instrument of Humanity's Justice? The power of life or death over countless lives and dozens of species, anger cloaked in the guise of—a" They snickered "--righteousness. What better way to observe these fatal flaws?"

Avoid the bait. He straightened, keeping eye-contact. "Active observation such as this or...The Machine."

"You learn quickly." They sauntered over to the one love seat to perch on an arm. "And yes, I could obliterate you easily, but it would make such a mess of things which does not interest me. Now. Make yourself comfortable before I change my mind." Somewhere, the smell of tobacco returned. Nikolai pulled the case from his inner waistcoat pocket and opened it toward The Commander. "Cigarette?"

The Commander's face scrunched in confusion before taking one of the remaining two left in the case. "Why are you doing this."

"I have two options," began Nikolai, ready with his lighter. "I can resist you as the Fleet captains did. Or, I can abide by my mandate of stability and knowledge." He realized this was the first time he'd ever lit a cigarette for someone else. "And I can understand you." He laid the opened case on a side table to collect the ash.

They gingerly blew a smoke ring with narrowed, inquisitive eyes. "No. You are treating me friendly." A nasty smirk. "Oh, of course, you think that you have anything to offer me! Really, Nikolai, you are so unimaginative! I am a god!"

Maybe this was a test, maybe it was not. He took a gamble. "Would you prefer I be unfriendly? Your French elocution is laughable and your suit is garish." Finding no flames to engulf him, he added, "Care for a vodka tonic?"

"Oh give it up!" Their haughty laugh. "Typical of your unevolved species to assume a speck of matter shaped in an interesting way will easily persuade anyone to bend to your will. Base and crude. Insulting, even! I would send you back to The Machine were it not for my infinite magnanimity!" Evidently, he didn't give the right response when The Commander growled, "Did you even hear me! The Machine--"

"Will break me in ways I cannot conceive, yes." Nikolai set the drink on the side table before preparing another for himself. "I am not a Fleet captain. Taking offense at anything you do or say is like being angry at which direction the wind blows." Tobacco and food still tempted him dearly. Not yet. "Forces of nature cannot be resisted or controlled. They can only be understood. I stand to gain nothing by being anything except friendly."

For once, The Commander had no retort at the ready. Then: "I have not offended you?"

Exasperated, Nikolai set down his glass with a bang. "I never said that. You—" Deep breath. "You have been monstrous toward me since the moment you introduce yourself, taking every opportunity to reach inside me and rip out a piece of my heart." He looked away, picking up his glass. "Not even Vevi was this wantonly cruel."

"Then answer me. Why have you not barked some moralizing speech at me?"

Tell the truth. "Perhaps every time I must allow a war criminal to go unpunished because it is not my mandate and it was not my war, no one aboard the Maryam is authorized to know and the burden weighs on my heart. Perhaps in those moments, I am reminded that the people on the Maryam see the person I wish I were, not the person that I am."

He recognized the songs of night birds as the ones he heard as a boy. "Perhaps reminiscing over Vevi made me remember that decades later, there is something about our relationship I miss, as much as I hated her then. Perhaps even with the failsafe, I am not used to valuing my life as anything other than an obstacle for my government's enemies to overcome.”

He sipped his drink, distracted for a moment by the high quality of both the vodka and tonic water. “Perhaps I still hate living in a metal tube for so many months at a time, the only reprieve I can get is from visiting places which are not my home. Perhaps I want to speak with someone who knows my fatal flaws. Perhaps I want someone to smoke with."

He fell into the armchair, feeling the weariness return. "Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps."

What difference did it make if the god-creature would only strike him to ribbons, bolt him back together, and do the whole thing all over again? He had always been drawn to whatever was the very worst thing for him.

_Snap._ A box appeared in Nikolai's lap. The Commander was perched on the ottoman. They had discarded that needling smirk but Their eyes still twinkled. The smoke from their lips found the shape of a jellyfish. "I'm calling you Florian from now on. Because you hate it." They flicked over the box's top to reveal cigars, a secret indulgence Nikolai had always craved to experience but could never justify from the work it already took to fill the cigarette case once.

"Then I shall call you Borovoi after the imps of the forest." The Commander offered a flame on Their finger to light his cigar.

"You are small and crude. You will tire of me in good time as you fail to understand me." _Snap._ A modest selection of the feast on the tea tables appeared in a porcelain dish atop the cigar box.

"Perhaps you will tire of me first." One puff of the cigar went straight to his head and he sank deep into the armchair. "Ooya, that. That is like being hit in the head with a brick of gold." Even the smell was decadent. A warm buzz all over his skin.

"You truly are venal." The word carried far less judgment. "I like that."

A satisfying puff. "Good." His schedule was cleared for the day. The Commander—Borovoi—may help him avert any suspicion when he returned to the space station. "Respectfully, I must ask."

"What is it, Florian?" They were right. Nikolai felt the name grate him ever so slightly.

"Fleet captains? _Honestly_. You can do much better." Nikolai vainly attempted a smoke ring. "Let me tell you a few things about Fleet captains…."


End file.
